Still My Guitar Gently Weeps
by RedAssassin0
Summary: "If you must blink, do it now. Pay careful attention to everything you see, no matter how unusual it may seem, if you look away, even for an instant, than our hero shall surely parish." Where team 7 finds a very different Sasuke at the end of three years.
1. Prologue: Awakening

_**Author's Note:**_

 _Hey-o!_

 _Uh yeah. So technically this is a crossover Au. BUT! Most of the story takes place in the Naruto Universe with only slight mentions to the other._

 _Also this is an Amnesiac!Sasuke fic._

 _So if you're cool with that then we're all good._

 _The reason why this isn't in the movie category or crossover category is because a. this movie has no fanfic for it on ff yet and I don't know how to make a new movie slot or whatever so it'll stay here. b. more people are going to end up reading it, meaning more people are going to be able to enjoy it. Which makes me in turn happy._

 _ANYWAYS._

 _Updates are quicker on A03, (weekly) while on here it'll probably be monthly. So if you want to read a head, I don't mind._

 _(I haven't' actually read/watched Naruto so if some details are off, I'm sorry. There's just alot of stuff to go through and I'm not sure if I could go through all the material to make sure everything is correct. )_

 _Copy write blah blah belongs to the guy who made Naruto and the people at Laika._

 _ **If you want to skip the intro (which is below) Go on to the next chapter.**_

 _ **Or to go on to the Naruto Universe.**_

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 **OoOoOoOoO**

* * *

"If you must blink, do it now."

These were the words he uttered every time before he would start a story, before he would prick the stings of his mother's old shamisen and before he would lay down the cloth that contained the colorful pieces of origami that he would bring to life.

It was like a sirens call; every time they were said, time seemed to still for a second, before it would fast forward, like a flash of lighting, the waves of people would part till there was a circle surrounding himself and his stage. These words had power. A power that turned and thrummed underneath his skin: it was similar to his mothers magic; something that was calm and smooth and semi sweet like the strumming of his instrument. It hadn't always been like that. He remembered when it had been bitter with a burning rage that clung to his skin with an oily yet sticky resolve. It was almost as if he had been soaking in tar, letting it turn about him to the point of nearly drowning him.

He couldn't remember the origin of the hate. He simply woke one night with his mother hovering over him, whispering his name as she ran her fingers through his tangled hair; her eyes dark with some unknown emotion as her tears ran down her face. In all honesty, it was the first night he could remember with his mother, or any part of his life really.

At first he had lashed out at her; scared but unwilling to admit it her or to himself. She simply cried through the night till she faded away, her tears still wet on her blank face as she stared out into nothing. It was only a few days later that he learned he slept for three days before awaking. He tried to coax out what had caused the prolonged sleep or even to question what his life was like before the cold blackness that sat in the void of his memory. She would only hold his face as her hand ran through his hair, "Kubo... My dear Kubo..." she would whisper before loosing all sense of where they were, only to ask a few seconds later if he would like to hear a story of the mighty Hanzo.

As time passed, he slowly stopped asking her and accepted that he may never get an answer.

* * *

It was a few months later when he first (or at least remembered) walked into the tiny village near his home. Winter was slowly inching it's way in. The days short and getting colder; snow had yet to fall on the ground, but it would only be a matter of time before it kissed the village. He curled his father's red Yukata in his hands, trying to shield them from the cold wind as he made his way through the barren field. An empty bag slung over his back and a few bronze coins jingling in the drawstring pouch he had tied to his obi.

There was a large amount of people in the market as he danced around the crowd of people looking at the various wares. There were several children running about as well as they threaded their way in and out of the bunches of humans; the cold didn't seem to effect them as much as the adults that unconsciously huddled behind others. A small smile graced his lips before a sudden ache pierced his heart; a sadness with no origin as he listened to the shrieks and giggling of a child suddenly picked up by their older brother.

"Paper Boy what's wrong?" an elderly woman's voice asked. He was quick to wipe the prickling tears as he jumped to face her.

"Nothing's wrong".He quickly responded.

Her weathered face twisted in a little scowl before she motioned him to follow her. He dredged along behind her as she expertly made her way through the throng of people to a little wooden patio with a small little over hang to protect against the rain. There was age in the wood, from the faded brown to the little splinters that sprang about in the poles and some of the floor; though most of it was smooth with wear. A black iron kettle sat on top of a metal shelf, as a flat bowl with wide edges layed beside it.

She quickly knelt down beside the kettle; sitting on her knees as she seemed to get comfortable before patting the spot near her. He complied; sitting on his feet as she had to her left. From this spot he could see nearly the whole market buzz about, from the people in the stalls, to a man showing off a colorful dragon, and the various men and woman going about their day. Oddly he felt himself calm as his eye flickered about from person to person.

"You know it's been a while since we've seen you around." As if broken out of a trance he turned to stare at the plump woman beside him. "We were worried about you after you bumped your head on that rock." His head slowly cocked to a side before owlishly blinking at her. "Feared the worst when you didn't come back after a few days." She turned to him, a solemn look that soured the grandmother look of her face.

"I.. I'm sorry. " He finally replied. "I didn't realize I had been gone for so long." The words felt uncomfortable on his tongue. He wasn't sure if it was because he honestly didn't feel sorry (how could he if I couldn't even remember his name without his mother telling it to him?), or if he simply wasn't use to saying it. There was a burning in his chest, as if he had wounded his own pride with the sentence; but he chased away the feeling or tried to at least.

"Aw come on now, there's no need to be upset Kubo." She nudged him with her elbow,"We all know that your mother isn't well, there's no shame in wanting to take care of her. Though you should try to grace us with your music and stories some time." With a wink and a grandmotherly smile she nudged him again till a small smile broke out on his face.

"I suppose I could try..." He peered off away from her in mock contemplation; his finger tapping his chin to complete the effect. He glanced back and smirked at her, it felt natural to do so. The woman huffed through her nose as if amused before lightly grabbing his cheek and shaking it a little.

"You a'ut to. You're getting quite pale, Kubo. Almost like a ghost. I doubt the winter is going to help but come spring you should be looking like your old self again." Her smile grew wider as he pushed away the offending hand with a disgruntled look to his face before nearly-pouting. Chuckling, she nudged him again, when he refused to look at her; a full pout now on his face.

They sat in silence for a little while; the sun now high in the sky, taking away a little bit of the chill from the air. Not enough to chase the nippiness away, but just enough to make it somewhat comfortable.

"Do you remember what made you sad?"

His head snapped to the old woman; the pout long gone.

"No I don't." A little curve of his lips appeared.

"Well then-" The old lady began before shoving the boy up with her hand "Off with you then." He stumbled up before setting her with half a glare before letting it drop.

Huffing he turned away to make his way back to the market when the lady spoke again "You're buying some rice for winter right?" There was a small nod of acknowledgment from the boy, "Then here." Old bones cracked as she sat up and walked over to him. A soft clicking from her hands signaled the exchange of money. "Buy some meat with it. I'm sure your mother wouldn't mind some."

The boy blinked in confusion before nodding with a small smile, turning, and making his way back into the crowded market.

* * *

A disgruntled growl ripped through his throat as he threw down his failed attempt of a tiger. The orange paper seemed to be mocking him the longer he stared at it. His fingers failed him every time he tried to fold the paper into the shapes he desired; as if they didn't know how to make the shapes themselves.

The old woman with the strange familiarity with him that told him of his past pastime; apparently, he once enjoyed it. He wasn't sure why he didn't enjoy it anymore, if anything, it frustrated him to no end.

He wished he could be his old self again. He felt frustratingly different in all the wrong ways.

Where he was once quiet, calm and relaxed, he now burned with a bubbling anger and hungry frustration; tempted to break everything in his path as if it caused all his woes. A burning itch flared through is neck at those times, as if begging him to feed it with his negative emotions.

He only did it once.

His dark feelings swirling about causing cacophony in the blankness of his mind as he sat before the flickering fire. White hot burning echoed from the crook of his neck as waves of fire washed over him. Strangely it felt good, as if saying hello to an old friend. The feeling quickly died as he spotted his mother standing before him; eyes glazed over yet in a stance prepared for battle, the red shamisen in hand with a puck in the other.

It felt slippery to what ever it was that slipped back to the origin on his neck. A burning rose from his throat, as his stomach churned in nausea and his eyes prickled in pain. He had spotted and taken note of all her weaknesses, calculated the time and speed to escape her attack before he could plunge his knife into her throat. Rushing away from her, he quickly emptied the rice he ate that morning.

Kubo wrinkled his nose in disgust at the memory. He promised he would never let those emotions take him again. He wasn't sure if he could take the mental picture of him murdering his mother again. Huffing he picked up another piece of paper from the pile beside him, this one a vibrate shade of green, took a calming breath, and began his attempt again at origami; this time a snake instead of a tiger.

* * *

Mother's instrument didn't cause him as much trouble as the origami did.

The three strings nearly hummed as his fingers came close, as if sensing the power that could be unleashed. It was pleasant to drag his fingers across the strings and hear them sing in a gentle hymn. Natural, the thought echoed in his mind as he caress the strings again, it felt natural as if his hand had always touched wire and taunt string.

Holding the neck of three stringed guitar in his callused palms felt awkward at first, the groove in the sleek wood off as his hand felt a little too big for it. Though now he could hardly feel the difference as he picked up the white triangular pick to start a new song.

* * *

Wrestling paper often woke him up in the middle of the night, though this time there wasn't a sound when his groggy black eye slowly slid open. The oppressively cold winter air pressed down on him; trying to coax him into slumber. Sleep nearly grasped him again when a soft scraping sound echoed in the cave, almost like a pair of shuffling unsure feet.

Kubo slowly turned over to face away the gray stone wall when his eye caught a black pair staring back at him. The mysterious person looked no older than himself, perhaps a bit younger. He had large black eyes that shined with emotion, pale nearly translucent skin under the moon and short raven locks that stuck out in weird angles behind his head. He wore strange clothing of blue and white that hung off him; an outlandish robe that flared out at the neck, out of season shorts, and long fabric sandals.

The child looked as surprised as he felt. It stayed like for a while; a single dark eye staring into a pair that almost seemed familiar. Kubo couldn't quite place why that was, staring at this stranger with stranger clothing almost seemed like he was staring at an echo of something long forgotten. As if sensing his thoughts, the ghost scowled at him as if he was disgusted with Kubo. A flickering sense of annoyance reverberated within himself. A near sense of loathing washed over him as the other's eyes seemed to judge him as their eyes narrowed.

A few seconds passed before the other turned his nose up as if something foal layed before him. Kubo didn't know why, but he was up in a flash, his sandals clacking on the stone floor as he marched up to the boy. The boy made no move as Kubo got in his face to glare, silently challenging for the kid to say anything to him. The child snorted before turning away, only to pause as if waiting for Kubo to follow him.

Growling, he complied, walking behind the stranger as they moved towards the entrance. At the mouth of the cave, Kubo paused as his companion kept walking. Snow left undisturbed as he went further out on the overhang. As if sensing Kubo's reluctance, the ghost spun his head towards him, and motioned with a tiny jerk to command him forward.

For a second he nearly complied, his foot inching out of the cave into the overpowering moonlight. The snow only enhancing the near enchanting light that painted the landscape in soothing dull tones. All of it combined seemed like a dream, a sweet dream that-. His foot stopped before it pressed into the freshly fallen snow. Little bells that spelled danced rattled around his head. As if burnt he brought his foot back in, his mother's strange warning of never going out while the moon graced the sky rang in his ear.

He didn't know why.

The Spirit whirled around in outrage. A snarl gracing his face as he eyed Kubo. With a translucent finger he pointed down, as if prompting a dog to come. Kubo vehemently shook his head before stepping back. The face of the ghost twisted even further at the disobedience, it's skin less and less opaque as his reluctance to follow grew. Almost sensing his resolve to not follow, the wraith seemed to deflate; the rage shedding off like a second skin, only leaving a defeated young boy in it's wake.

It's shoulders slumped forward as it's black eyes studied the ground. Kubo watched in curiosity as the little ghost slowly nodded it's head before turning it's back to him and sitting in the powdery white.

A heavy oppressing weight he didn't know he carried was lifted off Kubo as he watched snow slowly drift from the sky to the awaiting landscape.

* * *

He awoke to scattered papers skirting around the large cave. The dream of the ghost's crying slowly faded from his sleep addled mind in turn for the thoughts of cooking rice for his slowly deteriorating mother.

* * *

The fire crackled pleasantly that cold winter night as he sat comfortably on the Tammi mat come bed. Currently his mother swirled around, her black hair like a curtain as she acted out the story she was telling. She was always animated while she told the stories of his father.

Hearing these stories always brought some joy to his monotonous life. His life felt dull and somewhat lifeless compared to the tales his loving mother would retell him at night.

Her glassy unseeing eyes when she was away were the bane of his existence; he yearned for her to be mentally there with him all the time, but he knew that was wishful thinking. Though it never detour him from accepting her affections either it be hugs, her gentle teasing, her fingers gently carding though his misbehaving hair, or the occasional kiss on his head. It felt as if he had gone through years of loneliness. He knew it couldn't be true.

At times though, he wondered about it. Occasionally a bout of crippling pain would echo through her eyes as she would stare down at him. Her eyes almost seeing someone else instead of himself. Kubo most of the time wrote it off, thinking that perhaps she saw her Hanzo, his father, in him. Sometimes he wasn't so sure.

"Kubo?" A pair of golden brown eyes worried over him.

"Sorry mother." He gave a little smile, "I was just thinking is all."

Her eyes slightly widened and with a nod, she smiled back at him.

It was a sad little thing.

* * *

Despite his freezing feet, he continued to march though the snow. He wore his determination on sleeve as he made his rounds in the area near his and Mother's home. Or as most people would call it; exploring. He would call it scouting out the perimeter .

The area directly surrounding the cave wasn't very interesting; it mostly consisted of dark gray stone, rocky cliff sides, and occasional jagged shoreline. While he wasn't particularly scared to go these areas he kept a healthy dose of caution. Perhaps when the snow was soaked into the ground during spring he would venture there, but now he currently strolled down an unseen pathway in the woods near town.

Ancient trees blocked the rare sunshine, making the area even colder. His feet sometimes dipped into powder further than he liked, curses slipping between his flaky lips as he tried to wipe the offending ice from his thighs. While he enjoyed his mothers company, either her being there in body or mind, the itching feeling of being coped up grafted at his nerves. So that morning he wore as much warm clothing that he could, created a bonfire in the middle of the cave, and draped both his and his mothers blankets onto his mothers back before setting out on his wonderful winter adventure. Which wasn't really fun he dully concluded.

He was contemplating the adverse effects of the bonfire in the middle of his home with his mother when the murmur of a stream came from behind him. Quickly turning on his heel, he spotted a sizable stream that lazily sleeked by. What caught his attention wasn't the water but layed on the other side; a small cemetery with aging gray headstones clustered together in an almost intimate gesture in a semi circle cleaning. The trees surrounding the area branched over it as if guarding it from the heavens. Magic almost seemed tangible there. A few seconds is all it took before the oddity seemed apparent.

There were footsteps in the fresh snow that led from the staircase of stone to the edge of the river. Kubo's head snapped back and forth from the mysterious prints and the small shore. It didn't seem as if anyone else was around. Like a jolt, an idea came to him. With almost dread like fear in his stomach his black orb tracked his freshly made snow indents to the edge of the river. They lined up perfectly. His eye grew as big as a saucer. Excitement quickly occupied the space dread had dwelled in a few seconds before.

Giddy glee rumbled through his body as he nearly ran up to the edge of the river before stomping the top of the water, placing his full weight into it. Which admittedly was the stupidest things he had ever done. He wasn't sure what he had been expecting. Maybe somehow be able to walk on the surface or something silly like that. He really should've known better he would chastise himself later.

A girlish screen tore from his throat when he realized that yes, his foot was going through the water's surface and yes he was going for a nice winter swim. A chilled stinging zipped through his body as he went under. It stole his breath for a second, a barrage of bubbles reflecting his lack of air.

Like lightening he was out of the death trap and onto sweet snow covered land. His legs felt shaky and tingly as if a jolt of fire had raced up from his feet. He wasn't going to question why he wasn't in the watery grave, just glad he was out and on his feet. He eyed the river in disdain as he frog walked his way between the graves of peoples ancestors and up snow covered stairs.

Later that night his mother politely asked why he was completely drenched when he arrived home. The two old blankets that they owned swamped his form except for his toes that curled in the warmth of the crackling fire.

"The river and I had a disagreement" he moodly answered.

Her laugh tinkled like a chime.

* * *

Hush fell over as the next set of cords echoed in the silent market.

Pay careful attention to everything you see, no matter how unusual it may seem..."

* * *

Paper monstrosities that mocked the art of origami were strewn all about in a circle of frustrated tension. They were mostly forgotten in favor of a familiar worn instrument that semi layed, semi leaned on his thighs. Nimble fingers glided over wires as Kubo tightened and stretched the wire over the red neck. Pricking at the newly corded string, they purred as if content, the high zesty sounded to be about pitch. He blew through his nose as if stating he expected nothing less from himself, then he eyed the graveyard of paper around him in ire. The pride he had for a second quickly melted as he gloomly eyed his pit of self made hell. Paper folding, apparently, wasn't his forte. Or at least it wasn't anymore.

His playing had significantly increased since he first picked up the shamisen, unlike his origami skills that a toddler could out perform him. Something felt missing every time he took a piece of colorful water pressed wood and attempted to make a seemingly two dimensional object into a three dimensional object. With a bit of annoyance he took the pick laying to his side and began to strum; the stress of origami ebbed out from his shoulders.

He wasn't really playing anything in specific at that moment, more of ambient sounds for the turning cogs of his wondering mind. Or at least that would be his excuse for not noticing the shifting of crinkled paper corpses. The particular place his thoughts occupied were of the ghost he wasn't so sure wasn't real. He defiantly remembered waking up to a disaster of paper all over the cave floor that would give a rainbow a bad name. But he also remembered someone standing at the mouth of cave. Unlike the last ghost, this one just stared, it's cold black eyes like a vertex drawing him in. They unsettled Kubo on a primal level, as if he knew what they could do; knew of what they had already done. He quickly turned his back from the figure outlined in the silver moon halo and squished his one eye tight, hoping, praying that it would leave or at least the moody snow ghost would appear.

Flickering black caught his eye as he dragged his mind from the memory; his breath caught in his throat. There a few centimeters from his stretched out feet stood a little black origami figure. Its little face peered at Kubo in an almost mocking gesture; if it had eyes, Kubo might of said it stared like a predator stalking pray. He swallowed before slowly taking his hand away from the strings to grab the nervous-wreaking-mock-man. Almost like a broken curse, the figure burst into a mess of black paper, scattering itself around the area of combustion. At first he wasn't sure what to do as he stared at the explosion in front of him, was there really anything he could do? He scratched his head; his black hair smooth and feather-like as his fingers went through it.

A light bulb flickered on before he strummed the strings again. With an eye glued to the paper, Kubo's fingers flickered over wire as a peppy beat echoed in the cave, the pick forgotten to his side. After a minute or two of nothing happening, a scowl formed on his face at the lack of motion. He nearly gave up at the notion of self folding origami when the paper not in front of him but to his side began to fold itself. In shock, the music died down, as did the figure emerging from the dark blue recess. Rectifying his mistake quickly, he started the melody again, abate this time slower than the original speed. Almost like a waking flower, the paper started to refold itself several times till a small person formed.

Kubo might of been surprised or even a bit curious as to what the object mimicked if he didn't' already recognize it.

The little paper ghost frown at him, it's whole face morphing at the movement. He could help but chuckle at it. It was nearly a perfect mocket of the ghost, from it's weird neck robe, to the shorts and weird shoes, to the ridiculous spiked hair that reminded him of water fowl.

"Hello little ghost" he whispered, fearing that paper could be triggered unlike a bomb by a raised voice.

A blue head tilted up, eyeing him with curious disdain. The eyeless stare made him uncomfortable as he tried to clear his throat to speak to it again.

"Why are you so mad all the time? Why do you stay here?" He instantly felt stupid at asking paper to answer him. He nearly stopped strumming when he remembered the last time he did that. A strange sorrow filled tune reverberated through the strings. It's non-existent stare tried to pin him before motioning towards Kubo's foot. Swirling black levitated a little by his sole. Shivers ran through his body as a humanoid stepped out of the tornado of paper.

This version of the black figure from the not-quite-dream screamed of danger. Even if it was paper, there was something distinctly wrong with it. Swishing long coat with a weird neck collar, a long ponytail that sat limpy on its neck, and a think black sword protruding from the recess of the flowing sleeves; all that composed of it, seemed all too familiar, something that should stay in the dark and never be recovered. A black paper face turned to him, it's malice seeping into Kubo's pores.

Krickkkkkshhh.

Origami paper layed crinkled under foot, as he took steady gulps of chilled air. It took a few minutes before his erratic breathing slowed something close to normal. He didn't dare move his foot even if it layed in an uncomfortable position. Something told him it wouldn't be that easy to get rid of the looming figure.

A sharp pricking in his knee drew his attention from the black crater of paper to the little paper ghost. It had a particularly smug face.

Brows narrowed before Kubo angerly stage whispered "Oh don't look so smug, duck butt."

It jumped in surprise before an even smugger face appeared. Kubo wasn't sure how paper could look so smug with itself, as if it knew something he didn't.

"Fine, then. Be like that." a growl came out, "Just tell me what would make you happy for you can leave me in peace."

The ghost gave a particularly scathing look almost asking if he was stupid before uncrossing its arms. He expectantly stared at infuriating navy blue paper, impatiently waiting for it to do something. "Well?"

Desert sky colored paper began to cautiously shift and fold into complicated shapes. Only a few seconds later, there was a little mocket of his mother. The long flowing hair and long flowing kimono, with a kind but tired stance; it really captured her essence. Kubo's eye opened in shock before turning back to the paper ghost. Only to find it gone and a miniature version of himself. From his shamisen to his father's yukata, even his sandals and gourd for water. The only thing that remained was the ghost's stupid gravity-defying hair. He silently watched as the paper Kubo ran over to the small mother and hug her and the blue mother hug him back.

The strumming stopped as the real Kubo rubbed his eye. His eye itchy from the prickling tears threatening to spill.

"Stupid. I said what would make you happy, not me." ,

Whipping the remnants of tears from his face, he stared at the origami figures that somehow stayed in tact. Sniffing a little before swipping his nose with his palm he started to reach for the pair before the paper underneath his foot wrestled. He nearly had forgotten about the terrifying figure. Nodding a little, he snatched the paper from the ground, almost expecting it to snap at him like an alligator, crumpled the black paper into a ball and depositing the mass into the fire starting to burn low. Then thinking better, grabbed the rest of the inky black paper in his collection and tossed them in as well. He kept silent vigil as remnants of paper shivered around like black snakes.

It was a few minutes after the new fire fuel fed the hungry flames that he turned back to his origami-version family. Smiling a little, he placed them near bed, beside the charm of Mr. Monkey. With a huff he stretched out on the Tami mat before slightly pushing down the crazy bird hair of his other self. He most certainly did not have hair like that.

* * *

He most certainly DID have duck butt hair, he realized in horror. Winter's harsh winds and icy snow finally succumbed to warmer Spring times that felt welcome to it's counterpart. Despite it being only early spring, Kubo found himself at the river washing every single piece of cloth him and his mother owned; the foal stench of body stench and unwashed clothing egging on the choice.

Again he stared down at his reflection from the sluggish moving stream. Yep. Still a duck butt. He tried patting down the unruly hair only to watch as it popped back up like a spring. He wasn't sure if he should be disgusted or impressed with the fact his hair refused to sit flat with the weight of soil, oil, and whatever else that decided it needed residence in his hair. The thought instigated a good itch to his scalp and then his arm and then his chest before he stopped himself from starting the itching cycle all over again. An aggravated sigh escaped his lips as refused to view the gray gunk that was undoubtedly wedged under his fingertips. He already felt gross, he really didn't need to any evidence to his uncleanliness.

Trying to escape the thoughts of anything and everything that could be on his body at the second, he opted to study his reflection for nearly the first time since awaking. A single wide harrowing hole of an eye while the other hidden by a well worn eye patch, a thin bridged nose that was relatively on the small side, a low set mouth with pale pink lips, soft but high cheeks, a short pointed chin, sun washed bone colored skin stretched over his lanky but strangely muscular form, and wild midnight hair that refused to be tamed; other than his stupid hair, he wasn't that bad looking he mused. Defiantly different than his mother in some aspects of looks, but that was probably the genes of his father showing itself.

Gulping, Kubo straightened his shoulders and back before plunging himself in the gentle current. He instantly regretted it.

A wracking shiver vibrated through his body as the chilled water ate away the little warm he may of possessed. He nearly jumped out when he remembered why he was taking a bath in the first place. Nodding his head at his self-made mission, he grabbed a thin frayed rope that strangled a ball of cloth and dragged it towards him. With trembling hands, Kubo dunked the gray cloth into the stream before allowing it to surface and scrub it between his hands. Small suds appeared on the worn cloth. Scrubbing as hard as the makeshift washcloth would allow, he rubbed his skin till a searing unassociated with the burning cold could be felt.

He continued his war on filth; blazing a trail of fresh skin as the encrusted dirt came off in nauseating frequency. When it came time to wash his hair, he held his breath for a few seconds, sent a prayer to whoever might of been listening, and dunked his head in before instantly coming back up. His teeth chattered in a clacking fashion. Raking his digits through his heavy hair, he scratched, rubbed, and scraped at his scalp and tangled rats mess till he felt somewhat satisfied, before rubbing the cloth into his unwelding hair. It was a good bit of time before suds finally sat in, turning a murky brown before being washed away with the stream water.

The third time Kubo rubs his hair down is when he notices the strange black mark on the junction of his neck and collarbone. Tilting his head forward and twisting his head to the side, the strange black markings come into his partial view. Kubo isn't quite sure what to make of it with it's strange flame like circle and swirl like trinity mark, almost like tomae. He blinks at the word that popped into his mind. He tries to recall what exactly a tomae is or what it does, but his mind is uncooperative as usual, unwilling to share the secrets it might hold from him. Snorting at the middle finger his mind practically gave him, he goes back ignoring the strange mark and back to scrubbing his soapy hair.

* * *

It's a mild spring night that Kubo finds himself waking up from an otherworldly dream. He can't call it a nightmare, it's too bizarre for him to say that. It almost felt like he was watching someone else's nightmare playing over and over again like a needle of a record player off it's track, doomed to keep repeating it's self.

Intruding is maybe the best word for how he feels. Something extremely personal to someone but he feels mostly indifferent to the horror unfolding before him.

There's a man and a woman sitting on the ground, their heads bent in submission. Their faces are blurred almost like an eraser scrubbed through what once their faces. Both are dressed in black in the shadowed room; they nearly blend into the inky blackness that the pale moon doesn't light up. A stifling suppression hangs heavy in the air as a child no older than Kubo himself appears behind them, gripping a sword tightly in his hand.

Unlike the two adults in front of him, his face is unobscured. Deep ridges gorge the boys face, mocking tear tracks. His dark hair is pulled into a low ponytail and his skin shines pearl-like in the moonlight. And the eyes. They're the brightest crimson Kubo has seen, like ripe cherry tomatoes or freshly split blood. A shutter races through his spine. Those eyes mean danger, they mean pain, and death and he's unable to look away as boy plunges his sword into the awaiting couple. Oddly they seem like sacrifices as they accept their doom.

Their red, red blood spill over the wooden floor. He's sure if the blood flows over his feet; his toes feel sticky and wet. But he doesn't dare look away from the boy in front of him. It's almost like he's under compulsion.

The scene then repeats itself. With each alliteration, the full moon dyes redder and redder as more and more blood flows around Kubo's feet. The sharp tang of copper tickles his nose. He's not sure when he starts to notice the odd things with the scene. He's sure it's somewhere near the tenth replay that they become apparent. The slumped shoulders, the heavy world weary look, the tears streaming down the predispositioned tracks, the distraught and anguish; they all come to him in a woozy realization.

The red swims up to his ankles. The air clogged with the sweet copper and biting salt smell. The fancy room lit with a strange red light that has no origin. Whoever this child is, he's not controlling his actions. Someone is forcing him to kill these people who sit defeated in his presence. With the realization the world almost shifts as a new presence bleeds inside. It's sticky black substance stinking of sweet decay and infection. It's clawed hands grip the boy, influencing his motions, pushing him when needed and pulling back when not. The tar-like substance gains form slowly and surely till a shadow forms.

Kubo remembers the form. The form his black origami paper took during the biting winter when he first shifted paper with his shamisen. It doesn't notice him at first, which he thinks is for the best. He's not sure what he could do in this world, the lack of control eating away at any confidence he had in waking life. He's merely an observer. Forever unable to interact.

Eventually his luck stops as the shadow creature stares at him, it's wide red eyes swirling with mania. A wide grin stretches across it's face as the rest of it's body crawls out of some hidden crevice. Kubo can't help but to think of a spider or centipede. It side steps the familiar scene, as it's feet splash in the miniature blood lake on the ground. He's trapped. His feet refuse to move as it stalks forward, like a predator that knows it's already won.

It stops only a few feet away, it's form towering over his own. It raises a single hand to him, two fingers pointed out while the rest are tucked behind it's thumb. He's squints his eyes as the fingers poke his forehead. Kubo blinks at the figure as a warm smile replaces the sadistic one it wore only a few seconds ago. He almost prefers the crazy Cheshire grin than this human like emotion it displaces. It turns away from him before cracks form in the creature and it bursts open as loud squawking crows fill the room.

He wakes up with sweat crusted in his brows and a heart that refuses to calm even after several long breaths.

* * *

It's late spring that Kubo decides he's going to story tell at the market that day. In all honesty, he's terrified. The gnawing feeling in his stomach intensifies as he strolls in unsure where to place himself or even how to start. Small crowds fill the noisy market, making it hard to set his makeshift bag down without it getting trampled.

"Kubo! Over here!" a familiar voice calls. He spots the old woman stationed by her normal post, waving her hand in an enthusiastic manner. Trudging over; he's careful not to jostle the instrument or loose any of his precious paper before stopping before her. Her brown eyes grow wide when she notices the neck of the crimson shamisen and her face lights up with giddy glee. "Going to tell us a story today young man." She nearly purrs in content.

His face flushes bright red at the not question but comment. Nodding he offers a timid smile before stating. " Yes. But I don't know where would be a good spot to set up."

She warmly smiles at him before gesturing the to small intersection-like area they where near. It's relatively clear of the bustling people with a few random villagers hanging close to buildings near by. "This is a pretty good spot if I say so myself. A lot of fine people walk by here."

Kubo nods at her suggestion before stepping out a little bit away and setting down the cloth pack. The papers slightly rustle from within as he unties the knots revealing the multitude of colors hidden within. Standing up he breaths out some of the overwhelming nerves that jitter in his chest and bones before he slings his instrument before him. The grooves feel reassuring as pulls out a pick. Another shuttering breath goes through his nose as he closes his eye and tries to find his zen. His eye snaps open at the sudden inspiration, his nerves almost calmed.

He lets the words flow through his mind to his mouth.

"If you must blink. Do it now."

* * *

Summer swelters as Kubo fans himself. The air sticky with humidity and heat from an unfallen rain.

The heat reminds him a place he can't quite recall; where it was always warm even when it was winter.

Beads of sweat roll down his back and along his hairline.

He takes his long black hair and puts it into a short pony tail to keep his neck a little cooler.

And if it happens to hide his bird-like head of hair, he won't complain.

* * *

It started like any other day.

Wake up early, collect the strewn origami paper, make breakfast, feed mother, watch the sunrise with her before leaving, entertain the people of town with stories, leaving at the stroke of the evening bell, returning home at sunset when his mother "awoke", spending time with her before bed; it was a simple schedule.

Even a little monotonous with the rinse and repeat motion of it all.

But he would give up anything for that daily notion of what to expect then the cold emptiness he felt.

If he had known what would've happened at the festival he would've sworn it off.

How was he suppose to know what was to come?

* * *

"If you look away, even for an instant, than our hero shall surely perish."


	2. Reunion

It was gray out, the sun hiding behind the dark cloud cover as leaves whispered with gusty streams of cool air. Ashen smoke swirls around. A sweet soothing fragrance fills the air. Paper shifts as a pale hand gently places an origami dragon on the rough stone. It's aqua scales glittering and bright in the darkness of the day.

There's an inhale of early fall air; the musty decay of leaves and rich soil mix with burning offering, before a shuttering breath comes out of pale pink lips.

Water splashes into a small white dish.

Candles flicker in another currant gust of wind.

Palms gently clap as they are brought together.

Another shaky sigh, as if gathering strength.

"I-. I have come to say goodbye." a breathy voice stated. Bright flame like leaves floated down with the breeze.

"I know it's been only a few months since you've left... But..."

"I think it's time I left to go on my own.. I think M-." The smooth timid voice chokes, a throaty swallow punctuates the air before it restarts.

"I think she would be proud that I let go of my anger. That we got along despite what happened... I'm not mad anymore. I just. Need to go."

The boy-man smiles.

"So this is goodbye, grandfather."

The man slowly eases himself out of sitting position, his shins slightly damp, as he stands. Brushing the soil off his knees, he turns stares at the pale marker for perhaps the last time before turning away. Crisp leaves crunch under his wooden sandals as he whisps through the small graveyard like smoke. Markers and nondescript jars litter the little aisles. Some hold dying flowers and small gifts while others are empty with mold etching into the stone. He easily passes it all for the wet pebble pathway that bisects the small cemetery.

Nostalgia makes him turn to view the rapidly moving river behind him. It's current lashes out at the shore of sharp rocks as it rushes past. He doesn't dare look at the other side. He doesn't want to think about the mistake that caused the death of his-. Stopping the thought in it's track he turns to face the exit. Where normally winding worn stone stairs climb up the hill that overlooks the cemetery, there's a new addition leaning against the iron side rail. The old woman blinks as she patiently waits for him to walk up the ancient stairs.

He takes his time. His steps slower and slower before he's dwarfing over her. Her face weary, lines of old age contort as she solemnity eyes him. Warm brown eyes drop as she sighs before adjusting her blue kimono. "You don't have to go." She states; her voice soft dangerously near fading.

"You know I have to." Feet shuffle with the fact. He moves the thick strap on his shoulder a little to his right.

Looking up she studies the man she's known since he was little. Watched him as he grew up. From the moment his mother showed up in town the first time, to his first story, to his near fatal accident, to his "rebirth", to the demise of his mother, up till now. He's very different compared to the young boy she knew. With dark locks of soft hair pulled into a small ponytail, a bottomless black eye, pale moonlight skin, and svelte body; he looked like a predator, unlike his younger self would of suggested.

She fondly smiles before removing a thick gray fabric that hung over her arm. Offering it with one arm she resignes,"Take this. It will keep you dry."

Returning the smile he drapes it over his shoulder, it's heavy and smells of campfire soot.

"You'll come back and visit won't you?" There's fear lurking in the question.

"Why wouldn't I Kameyo?" A hint of arrogance flashes through his face, as if she was asking a stupid question.

Grabbing his cheek with her frail fingers she attempts to shake the little fat there. "Don't forget about us now paper boy. We'll always be here." His face scrunches in playful irritation.

"I won't."

She releases her hostage before pulling him into a tight embrace, fingers tightening around the back. A second later, hands weave around her, returning the hug. It's quickly over as feet step away from each other.

Sandals clack as they steadily climb up stone stairs.

"She would be proud of you, you know! " Kameyo shouts, her grandmotherly voice echoing off the trees and stones.

The man falters. His foot half way up to the next step.

"I know."

The answer is smooth yet sharp.

* * *

Freezing air stirs about as charcoal clouds churn over head. He studies the sky in morbid fascination as he tightens the gift, revealed to be a finely woven wool cloak, around himself. Winds howl as they rip through the trees, raining down leaves in masquerade of confetti. Branches twist in old angles and forms; fencing the lone morass path. The temperature steadily dropping as the storm brews over head.

Honestly he could care less.

Twigs snap under pressure as he continues to amble along. His thoughts more occupied with the distance to the next village and the flickering thoughts tumbling around his head; a nagging sense of needing to be somewhere and doing something important. He's not exactly sure where they come from. Just that he needs to keep moving. To comply to his wanderlust even if it takes him far from what's he's known.

And what's he's know has been very little.

Especially anything that's happened before three years ago.

His mind is dark and unyielding. It like a dark shadow lingering in his consciousness; unassuming but lurking around occasionally when it sees fit. Or shapeless pieces to a puzzle that doesn't exist anymore.

The thought of finding the puzzle frightens him a little.

He's not sure why it does though.

Another heady wind zooms through as rumbling echos from above. His hood ripped off, erratically whipping about. The cape flaring up behind him like strange wings.

It's not the powerful gust that draws his attention away from his sandaled feet, but of the lone dark figure casually strolling down the path. It's gait oddly familiar.

Swallowing, he moves forward, the calmness of his step fading as the blue humanoid comes closer. There's a slimy crawly feeling tingling over his skin as he draws nearer and a strange borrowing, wriggling sensation in the back of his neck. Something is very wrong with this person and it takes all his self control not to run the other way.

White light flashes in the black sky before a harrowing boom detonates, making everything convulse.

The figure is closer now, almost as if the light transported it to it's new position. He can clearly discern the dark blue kimono and purple obi tied around what he supposes is a woman's waist. Her long black hair sways with a certain grace from under the woven sugegasa, her eyes obscured from view. He pointedly moves his eye to the muddy ground.

Another bolt of lightening streaks, this time less bright, with a low rumble following afterwards.

Sludge squelches before and under his feet; a soft pop as the feet of both persons rise out of the mire. The woman is closer now, her skin pale, paler than his own that reminds of him fresh fallen snow, glistens in the twilight-like highlight in the angry sky. Her shins are strangely wrapped in clean bandages and her sandals odd as well. He doesn't dare to look up further.

A few more foot falls and they'll be in arms length of each other. Hair standing on its end, he suppresses a shudder. The stories of Oni, Yurei, and Yokai attacking helpless alone travelers don't seem so far fetched as they once did. Only now does he regret leaving before the next caravan out of town. At least then he wouldn't be facing this Yokai alone.

Movement and sound stop for a few seconds as he is forced to halt. Despite her small frame, she dominates the path, leaving no room to maneuver around without seeming rude.

Bright light washes over them both before it's suddenly dark again.

There's grumbling in the far distance.

He can feel eyes studying, dissecting him. It's oddly deja vu like.

"I don't suppose you could help me?" A ruff slithery voice purrs out almost as if it's pleased or amused, "I am looking for a particular little village in this region."

Startled, the man looks up to the now newly identified male traveler(?),( Yokai(?)),( oni(?)) 's face. Thin long lips smirk from his ghostly pale face. Purple markings surround and spike away from green? gold? stilted eyes as they examine the shorter man. It's hard to tell with the sunless evening and brimming shadow from the pointed hat.

He's already lost the game. What ever game this monstrous creature is playing with unspoken rules and unfair advantages. It feels like the the night of the festival nearly two years ago. Except there is no one here to save him this time.

Dread trickles into his subconsciousness; his feet jitter nervously.

Realizing that he hasn't replied, his voice dry, as he asks "Which one?"

"It's fairly small, overlooks the ocean, full of civilians..."The semi threat hangs in the air till the monster continues, "There's a rather gifted storyteller, whom I wish to speak with. He does some rather marvelous things with paper from what I hear."

He's suddenly very glad for the cloak covering his shamisin.

A drop of water bounces off his uncovered head. It nestles into the roots of his hair as does the next one after it. He doesn't dare to lift the hood; the glowing golden eyes wouldn't approve.

"But since you've apparently came from there, perhaps I can inquire you instead." The monster pauses, waiting for a denial, before slithering forward, "I am looking for a wayward student of mine. He's been missing for quite some time now. His name is Sasuke Uchiha."

The name is unfamiliar to him.

Relaxing with a gitty release of nerves, he replies in a calmer voice "I'm sorry but there is nobody there by the name of Sasuke."

This response isn't one the stranger is expecting. The monster almost seems dumbfounded for a second.

"Tell me what your name is?" it comes out half way between a command and a question.

"Kubo." He sidesteps the snake man, brushing past with his cloak, eager for this exchange to end. This move always seemed to peeve Kameyo off; she'd slap him in the head scolding him to be more polite and stop acting like that. He wasn't exactly sure what she meant by that but the need to be polite and the need to get out of dodge were very two different things, especially dealing with a snake.

A thick oozy snicker left the creatures lips, "Mmmm... Mine is Orochimaru."

Freezing water pelts the ground.

Pointedly ignoring it's response, he lifts the heavy hood as more water buckets the ground. The trail instantly becoming slick and waterlogged. He trudges forth.

"Tell me, Kubo. How does that curse mark on your neck feel? Does it feel like something is living underneath your skin?"

Standing stock still, he slaps his hand over the strange black markings on the nape of his neck.

Whatever this strange game is, he instantly knows he's lost. He can feel the serpentine cackling at him.

Bright light blinds everything as the earth quakes underneath. A glint of something metallic is the only warning. Stinging fire blooms across his cheek. The world grows dark again.

He's gone before the second attack can happen.

* * *

Green, black, and brown flash through his limited vision as he razes through the trees and brush. Scratches appear on his skin in his hasty retreat. Mud cakes and stacks onto his black pants and not-really-protective-enough sandals. The downpour blurs anything remotely noticeable and the howling typhoon makes it impossible to hear.

He's not sure if Orochimaru is chasing him or if something else is, he just knows he needs to get away.

Half of him wants to turn around and fight, the other half wants to keep running.

The decision is made for him when pale hands snatch at his cloak, forcing him to stop or be clotheslined by the drawstring by his neck. He complies for only a second to release the string. There's a curse from behind him as he launches himself forward.

Blurried eyed, he only catches ashy hair and a glint of light off round glasses before he's being shoved.

Metallic flavor fills his mouth as his face collides into ruff bark. A splitting pain reverberates through his head.

The ground shutters as something crashes down; a zippy swoosh embeds itself above his head. He can feel strains of his hair being ripped out as he takes off towards a slope. Water sloshes down in turents as his feet dip and slide down the steep hillside. The ground is still trembling as he grabs a small branch; barely heard shouting coming from above.

One false move is all it takes before he's tumbling down.

His supplies go flying as they're ripped from his black obi, some coming down with the water while others sink into mud.

He feels something circular jut into his waist before it's crushed underneath him. Distantly he hopes it's not his shamisin.

Finally rolling to a stop, he gingerly picks himself up, a stabbing sensation in his side dully aches. He tries to peer up at the hill but anything past a few yards is washed out. Huffing, he stands straight up before turning and running again.

* * *

Yellow serpentine eyes watch the blob's hasty retreat further into the forest.

"Shouldn't we go after him?" A voice quietly asks from a branch behind. The speakers voice heaving a little.

"There's no need to, Kabuto."

Orochimaru turns to study his counterpart, it looks as if Kabuto battled a tree and lost to it. A chilling smirk crawls onto his face.

A confused scowl crosses his subordinates face. He snears inwardly, but mildly supplies, "He will come to us soon enough."

* * *

Golden sunlight glittered through thick brush as a black eye peered up in hazy recognition. The world aglow with crystalline reflections from the downpour. Growning , Kubo gently raises himself to his feet. Despite the rain, it hasn't cooled off or more its become forest debree sticking to him slides off with thick slunks.

If he had to guess its about noon.

He scrubs at his face, flakes of mud come off in a frightening scale. Idly he wishes for a wash. Deeply sighing, his breath hitches as a sharp pain laces through his side. His face twists before relaxing again as shallow swallows of air pass his lips. Gingerly he slowly unties his tattered black obi and peels the mud slick left side of his yukata. Deep crimson and violet spatter the side of his chest down to his waist; majority of the bruising blooming on and a little bellow his hip bone. Grimacing he closes the cloth, loosely trying the ruined obi over his stomach.

Slightly worried, he goes to check for other wounds. Most of them consist of small splotches of green or purple and small scratches on the exposed parts of his body.

There's a slight shifting of weight before he remembers the crunch from his tumble. Dreading the possibility, he slowly swings the gentle weight from his back to his view. The neck is broken near the second interlocking piece while there's a huge notch in the third piece. One of the screws is completely gone while another is broken in half. The strings are missing. The only thing that doesn't seem damaged is the base and the skin coating it; though thick mud coats it. He laments at the state of his instrument.

It would cost a fortune to fix it.

Hot rage boils through his veins. He was tempted to march right back to Orochimaru and fight the stupid snake man. Though the memory of yellow eyes dissenting him deters the foolish plan. Being anywhere by that creature would be a bad idea; even if to risk getting his supplies or to return to the path long behind him. His list of stupid ideas didn't need to grow longer.

He's not even sure how far away he's from it.

"Seems like the only way is forward." He mutters, taking a step towards the sun.

* * *

Sakura Huruno has had better days.

Her short cherry blossom hair waved in the gentle breeze, while her jade eyes screwed shut from the fire laced pain in her arm. Slowly breathing through her nose, she tried to ignore the burn in favor of anything else. The quiet murmurs of her teammates buzz around as the green leaves above rustle. Finally calming her erratic breathing, she peels her eyes open to the bright sunlight. Wincing, she turns her face from the sky to the two men conversing; their backs turned to her. Bright orange floods the area in a warm glow while yellow light reflects off metal. Seems as if captain Yamato and Naruto are getting along well enough.

Smiling a little she turns her attention away from the little huddlement to her worn pack. She only digs a little before pulling out a tattered green book with a drawing of a boy on it. She rolls it around in her hands. The edges are a little torn with wear, the front and back pictures faded, and the binding a little catawampus. One side has a little boy with black hair while the other side has white. It's gives her weird vibes as she slowly opens to an indiscernible page.

Black pencil and ivory paper greet her as she slowly scrolls through the book, nearly every drawing has a similar idea of design. And all have the same story. It's only when she reaches the middle does it change. A figure with no face stares back at her. Swallowing, she quickly turns the book to the back before following it along till she is again at the middle.

It's only a second before she feels eyes on her that don't come from the sketchbook.

Slowly peering over the green book, she spots a dark figure about eighteen meters away. They appear almost deer-like as they stare with anxious curiosity. She could've written them off for a lost traveler had their been any village near by.

Glancing over to the rest of the team, she makes the split second decision of drawing their attention to the book. Naruto probably wouldn't be able to catch on but the captain would.

"Hey guys. Come here." She yells, her eyes glued to mysterious newcomer. They stiffen.

Waiting a few beats, she shouts a little louder "You need to see this."

Crunching of grass and snapping of twigs steady comes closer as jade pins coal.

"Sakura, what is it?" A boisterous yet rough voice asks as he jogs up beside her.

"What's wrong Sakura?" Another asks. It only takes a split second before the contact is lost as Yamato goes to stand to her other side. Enough time for the person to disappear.

* * *

A broken shamasin, a short hunting knife, a smashed gourd, a torn coin purse, a tattered red yukata, a shredded pair of pants, and a pair of snapped strap sandals.

He groaned. Hardly any of his supplies had made it.

Bemoaning his luck, he threw the gourd away; it no longer useful, and placed everything that could be cleaned with somewhat ease by him. A search through the coin purse only turned up a few copper mon that were strung around a cord. The strap to the sandals were fixed with relative ease, though he worried at the combined unluckiness of two sandals with broken straps.

Carefully he carried over the rest of the items to a low murmuring stream he recently found. Sunlight sparkles off the clear water till muddy clothing was deposited under its surface. Scrubbing as hard as one could with long digits; clumps of mud, small sticks, and crusty leaves swirled around in the gentle flow. After the grueling cleaning session; he took his newly washed possessions and placed them in a ring of sunlight on some low hanging branches.

Checking the area for any random stranger and satisfied with the lack; he quickly took off his undergarments, dumping them into the water, scouring them as much as he dared to and leaving them up to dry with everything else.

Cool water chilled his skin as he quickly dipped himself in the brook; his teeth clenched tight to stop the enviable chatter. Steeling his breath, he dipped his head under before shooting back up; teeth clicking and shutters rolling from his shoulders. With shaking hands he pulled out the twine holding his pony tail; waterlogged ebony slumped over in mock relief. Holding his breath once more, he lowered his head into the cold recess of the stream; scratching at his scalp with dull fingernails.

After the water no longer bled brown and the grimy, crawly sensation ceased to cling to skin, his black eye scrutinized the clearing once again before sinking himself lower into the water, his hair a makeshift pillow, as it splayed around in the soft grass.

Despite the initial cold jolt, the crystalline like water was a comfortable cool as Kubo closed his eye. The early autumn sun warming his face and exposed shoulders. It wasn't long before the gentle caress of sleep rapped around his tired being. Lulling him into a shallow dreamless sleep.

* * *

A soft crunch. A whispering of cloth against cloth. A sheen of metal with a change of movement. A state of quiet awareness itching at his tired at one time would've had him awake with alertness, were ignored in favor for the lull of murmuring water and gentle swaying of leaves. That was until a very monotone voice stated.

"I thought you would've been bigger"

* * *

Half sputtering, half shrieking, Kubo sunk under only to shoot up seconds later, coughing and wiping the excess water from his face.

A single eye glared at the figure crouched on the side of the stream.

They offered only a smile.

His face twisted in an angry snarl. Quietly he demanded, "Do you mind?"

"Not at all."

Dumbstruck for a moment, Kubo gaped at the black haired, pale as paper, blank eyed man before him. His outfit looked like it met the wrong end of a pair of scissors with one of the sleeves and the stomach section of the shirt gone, and the pants cut too short. The unnerving smile never wavering off his face.

He narrowed his eye at the stranger. "Well I do. So go away", flicking his fingers in a motion to get away.

The man just tilted his head in response.

"It is nice to finally meet you. My name is Sai."

"That's great and all-," Kubo's voice dripping in sarcasm, "But. I. Am. Bathing. So you need to stop being creepy and go away."

"Like now." he demanded as Sai failed to move.

"Weren't the Uchiha politer than this?" the question asked nonchalantly.

"What does paper fans h-" His face scrunched up in displeasure "You know what? We're not doing this." Water splashed as hoisted himself out of the stream and spun Sai away from him. He gave a firm shove towards the surrounding forest. "You need to go home or where ever you came from and need to leave me alone."

Sai quickly turned back, replying "Naruto and Sakura are looking for-"

"I don't know who those people are-"

"-You. They plan on-"

"-And I really don't care. You need to go. Because-"

"-Taking you back to Konoha."

"-I'm leaving right now."

"I though you were bathing?"

"Well you've changed my mind."

Kubo pivoted Sai around and forced him to stumble towards the edge of the clearing.

"Will you be traveling with us?"

"Not with you, not ever." He gritted; elbowing the other continuously near the towering trees. "Don't you have something better to do than harass me?"

"My escort did say not to take too long."

"You've taken too long." He gave a final push before stalking towards his belongings.

* * *

Sai dispassionately surveiled as the other grumpily flung on an array of traditional clothing; muttering the whole time while doing it.

He eyed the black cloth in his hand before a smirk and little chuckle inched along his face. Tapping at his cheek; the emotion fled back to wherever it came from.

He was quickly gone a second later.

* * *

"Was it smart to let them met?" An aggravated voice asked as carmine flakes re-hydrate and slide off shiny steel.

Pointed yellow eyes glance down before eyeing the stream once more. " Sai will be coming back soon. Finish up."

No huff of annoyance came; though a soft clinking of metal and fluttering of cloth rolling; the sound almost aggravated in its own right. "Lord Orochimaru, I am finished." A few footsteps of crinkling rock rolled underneath as a young man in purple sat on top of a large protruding boulder. Trinkling water filled the silence as they waited.

"Danzo believes Sasuke has been with us the whole time. It would appear suspicious if Sai was never to see him. Even more so if he appeared to be at the hideout against his will." Orochimaru stated, breaking the long silence; his serpentine eyes locked at a certain segment of forest.

"Interesting."

Glimpsing down, a pair of black eyes with a slightly raised eyebrow silently asked a question before landing on the gray sheaf laying near his leg. He returned an eyebrow before smirking and training his eyes back. "It's not mine. But it will be returning to it's master soon enough."

Slowly he stood up, casually jumped off the grassy overhang he had been sitting on, and moved towards the murmuring stream.

"It conducts the natural chakra of it's wielder without needing to channel it through."

A _shring_ echoed as a golden katana glinted gold in the sunlight.

"It's almost like an extension of one's self. Someone could easily level mountains with it." The hilt clicked as it was deposited into the sheaf. "The alloy it's made out of is different too. It's a mixture I've never seen before; one part gold, another part something else."

"In capable hands, this sword could end nations..." The serpent turned, eyeing the furrowed brow and calculating look of his subordinate.

"Why return it then?" Kabuto asked.

"Because it isn't the most interesting thing about this sword." He angled the hilt towards Kabuto. "Someone has tied hair and bow string on the grip near the guard."

"Human hair. One from someone old while the other from someone much younger. Though the black strand is much older, lost a few years ago, while the white strand more recently. Only a few months old." The young nin supplied.

"They're memoirs." His voice less snake like and hushed; almost like a secret. His thumb gently rubbed the hair before his eyes grew harsh, pinning the other with a stare. Black stared into gold as grass and leaves crunched under foot.

Kabuto turned away first.

"Ah Sai. I see you have returned.", Orochimaru purred, his eyes sliding to the side, studying Sai before landing on the black cloth, "And with a new shirt too."

* * *

Footfalls echo off orange swirly bricks in the dark labyrinth hidden beneath a green savanna. Shallow candlelight flickers, casting long shadows on the floor as they pass by; some areas lay dark and empty like forgotten trails in a overgrown forest.

An uncomfortable blanket of silence covers everything, it's thick and semi-repressing. All other sounds seem nulled here; the distinct lack of others, slowly eats at his nerves.

"I wonder", Sai starts, waiting for the attention of his guide, "would it be possible to meet the rest of Orochimaru's subordinates, one's who are here? "

"There won't be any need for that. In fact it's impossible." The reply comes easy, as if the answer had been recited before. His feet scuff against stone as he stops.

Silence falls again; the Root ninja waits expectantly. His guide, Kabuto, finally inclines his head a little glancing at Sai's blank face before continuing.

"That's because there are no other people down here, just myself and... Kubo. That's all."

Smirking at Sai's raised eyebrows, he continues to walk down the long hallway that eats light the further one peered down it.

"Kubo?"

Clacks of sandals dance and bounce along the walls.

"He and lord Orochimaru should be arriving soon enough. It would be in your best interest to avoid them. For the time being."

An unbidden question lingers in the air as they continue further; kabuto ignoring it in favor of leading them to their destination.

Its sometime after when Kabuto stops. The door is mostly sturdy, appearing heavy as he fishes a silver key from a purple pocket and inserts it into a lock. It clunks as the pin raises the locking mechanism. Creaking, the door slowly opens; weak candle light spills into the corridor.

"This will be your room for the duration of you stay." He casually states as he enters the small dingy room. A small rickidy bed, a short table and a low burning candle fill the cramped room.

"The bathroom is over there." He lazily motions to the other door in the small room before circling around the black haired guest. "I'll be locking you in. No need for you to get skewered while you wait. Wouldn't want for you to be... well you know." The door clicks shut, a clink of metal, a clunk, and soft footsteps slowly disappear.

* * *

Darkness fills his vision as he slowly sits up; springs twang underneath as weight shifts. Despite the lack of light, the faint outlines of a desk, chair, and bookcase peep out of the pitch black of the small room. To his side there is a darkness that seems even darker than the main room in shape of a rectangle and a gentle flickering coming from a crack near the floor in front of him. Springs crunch as he swings his bare feet, placing them on the cool stone floor. The bed bounces as he gets up.

His feet patter softly as he warily approaches the door. Its heavy, worn and cumbersome as he gropes in the darkness. His hand finally lands on a metal handle and immediately pushes on it. It doesn't budge. Changing tactics, this time he pulls.

Soft yellow candlelight floods the doorway. Despite its lack of intensity, Kubo still squints before his eye finally acclimates. The corridor he finds himself in is empty. The only companion being the flickering light on strangely orange rock.

Its unseeingly silent as he waits for someone to find him. Occasionally the scraping of small nails click in the other rooms that dot the walls. Sometimes its a sudden breeze whirling by, but mostly its silence. A strong smell of wet earth and sweet decaying tang permeates the air.

At first he doesn't notice the light slowly fading; the wicks growing lower and lower as the fire eats string. Its only when a few of candles flicker out that he grows concerned. Glancing up, he eyes the candles with wary. They're too far from his reach, sitting on a ridge jutting from the wall; it doesn't stop him from trying. Standing on his toes his outreached fingers just barely touch the ridge. He aggravatingly huffs a little before turning around to his room.

His shadow hovers over the door way, darkening the contents. Gold glints from the bed as he reenters; it reflecting brightly in the dimming light.

The grooved handle feels good as he grips it.

Despite the welcomed familiarity of the katakana, it brings up questions of how it's in his possession again, where exactly he is, and who brought him here. His first assumption being he passed out somewhere and was in a temple or hospital. The appearance of Sword Unbreakable has him thinking otherwise now.

Frowning he ties the sheath to the black obi; his reddish-brown yukata droops with the weight, slightly loosening it in turn.

Nervous energy thrums through his digits as he scouts the semi lit room. His shamasin, hidden in a nook between the table and half full bookcase. Frowning he swings the instrument on his back; the strap rubbing into the notch of bare neck and shoulder. His sandals unfortunately, lacked to appear, even after scouring the small chamber. In their place, a pair of bizarre coal colored sandals with long linen kyahans incorporated in them, layed under the bed.

They were fairly easy to slip on after he jimmied them over his pants; it snugly wrapped around his shin and ankles. Despite their odd appearance, the new sandals were extremely comfortable; catering to the shape of his heel and palm of foot. And flexible he mused, rolling his ankle as the fabric moved with it.

After admiring the new sandals, he drags out the lonely chair sitting in his room to the ledge of candles. Even more have gone out: to the left is now pitch black with only a glimmer of orange in the far distance; the right speckled with splotches of darkness and dim light.

He's on top of the chair when a cacophony of noises come echoing from the semi lit side of the corridor. Straining his ears, it almost sounds like shouting but it isn't clear as to what they're saying. Only a second later there's a low rumbling and an explosion of rock hitting rock from somewhere deeper in the maze.

Startled the chair rocks precariously as his hands grips one of the low burning candles; its hot wax oozing out of a saucer and onto the overhang. He hisses as some hits his fingers. A squeak comes from below as he steadies the chair with one hand, the other trying not to tip the candle.

Glancing down he spots the strangest mouse he's even seen. The sight of it peaks his interests and almost nudges something in his memory; something about mice in a forgotten or descelent place and trying to chase him away. It fades as quickly as it came, leaving him with only the echo of the memory. Something gut-wrenching and depressive, almost a sense of hopelessness careens through his splat as candle meets stone lodges itself into his ears, jarring him out of trance like state. Dazed he dispassionately studies the mess of wax and wick before scoffing at the realization that he's dropped the candle.

The mouse is gone by the time he's fully aware of his surroundings again.

* * *

He's reaching over, trying to grab the edge of a candle saucer when another rumbling sound reverberates in the hall. Except this time it's different, quieter even and accompanied with a sound of something soft but high, almost squeaky. A mass of black swarming bodies scattering about further down the hall has a pit of dread spiking in his stomach. Kubo really doesn't want to know what's spooked so many mice into a wave of living rodents. The chair clatters to the ground, as he dashes back into the room given to him; the known quantity of the small chamber safer, than the unknown of the passageway. Slamming shut with a bang, nearly all the light is cut, the darkness swallows everything.

Scampering tiny paws stampede by, the light from underneath the door eclipsed for a moment. As soon as it had begun it was over. The squeaking gone and replaced with a pair of tiny feet scratching at wood. A little body squeezes itself under the door before popping out the other side, it's intelligent eyes monitoring Kubo's form. Cautiously he stares back at it, unsure of it's odd behavior. His skin tingles as a sense of anticipation picks at his nerves; something akin to a feeling he can't quite place.

The texture of the mouse as he cups the creature in his hands isn't quite fur, almost like it's a bad imitation of fur; it moves around in circles as if looking for an exit before it finally stops. He silently steps beside the bookcase, his back against the wall away from the line of site of the door. He holds his breath as the door creaks open. The glitter of light fills the bed.

There's a moment of pause, almost as if whatever lied outside the door was thinking, before a low voice whisper something; he can't catch most of the words, the most distinct word being "-beast-".

Oozy wet slops slither in, hissing as they cloak themselves in darkness, seeking out their prey. Tracking the snake-like shapes proves difficult in low lighting, their shapes blending into others as the comb the room. A sharp tear of pain grips his palm as he involuntary yelps; the mouse scampers away into the light and out of site. It's appearance not unlike a sketch of a mouse. The thought is dispatched as the figures of snakes surround him, their heads raised in a threatening manner.

Kubo dry swallows before asking "Who's there?"

A pause.

Then a voice replies, "So you do know I'm here."

The voice sounds familiar to a degree as it continues "Well regardless I still have the advantage."

Silently he agrees with the stranger.

"What do you want?" his voice raises at the end of the question.

More light pools in the room as the door is pried open. "If you mean lord Danzo, he plans on burying you."

A silhouette of someone crouching darkens the floor.

"And you? What do you plan on doing?"

He grips the hilt; the jaws of the snakes open menacingly.

"To take you back to the leaf.-"

Leather scrunches as a fist tightens.

"When I came here, I came with the sole intention of ending your life. But now, I'm here for a different reason."

"And if I refuse?" His voice sharp but wobbly.

"You can't."

The snakes lunge.

* * *

"What was that?" A slightly startled Yamato asks.

Dust curls in the wind in the distance, the slight tremor of the explosion over.

"Well I guess Kubo's up." Kabuto answers.

The captain trains his black eyes on the captive, not expecting an answer to his rhetorical question.

"I did warn him."

* * *

Ringing.

The whole world is ringing.

It's buzzing too. Almost like an insect, a giant insect.

The ringing quickly fades, but the buzzing doesn't.

Dust eats up his vision as his eyes slowly open, the dirt a little thick as he breathes in. Slowly it settles down, coating the area in dry earth. He slowly pushes himself onto his haunches. Viewing the area, Sai mostly says to himself, "Impressive, he broke out of my Jutsu with seer power."

Purple stone lays scattered and crumbled in the newly made crater, the diameter at least fifteen meters. Splinters of wood originate from blown apart room. Thick roots jut from above, angled in a spearing motion, as some smaller roots jar into the stone floor, shattering the rock.

Squinting up, the thick cover clears as the visage of what must be Sasuke appears. Sun glints off from something off his back before disappearing from sight. The buzzing stops too.

Sai stands as the figure above frowns in confusion. His eye taking in the destruction he's caused before landing on Sai himself. His eye squints before it opens wide in recognition.

The patter of footsteps are Sai's only warning as a gloved hand grips the collar of his shirt and a face full of pink haired kunoichi blocks his vision.

"Alright enough! Tell us what you're really up to! How many times do you plan on betraying-"

"You. You just tried to kill me!" A shocked voice shouts from above.

Everything stops as a startled Sakura turns towards the sun, her words falling silent as she releases Sai's collar.

"It's you. Sasuke."

'Sasuke' glances behind him, as if expecting to see someone else besides himself at the edge of the crater. Realizing that nobody is there with him; he shuffles with the new gaze. Almost as if he's baring witness to something that's private and has no business knowing.

For the first time, Sai questions himself if this person isn't Sasuke but the mysterious "Kubo" Kabuto mentioned to him.

A moment later orange streaks out of the darkness before skidding to a halt beside Sakura; his breath ragged as he gazes upward.

Gently a breeze drifts by ruffling the figure's hair, the bright mid morning sun silhouetting his front. His lips press together nervously before asking.

"Who are you people?"


End file.
